


Brother

by KiteTheKid



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, I'm Sorry, M/M, mostly angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-05-15 04:13:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5770861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiteTheKid/pseuds/KiteTheKid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki is broken after the fall, and he's coming back for revenge. He finds his brother instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brother

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bargaining](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1108212) by [proantagonist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/proantagonist/pseuds/proantagonist). 



> This was inspired by the best Thorki fanfiction that I have ever read; Bargaining by proantagonist. I would definitely recommend it! (obviously)

It seems like he has been falling for years. Laughable, really, in the fact that he hasn’t aged a day. Solidness seems like a faint dream, a foreign concept. There is pain when in the action of falling; a solidarity that makes him numb and indifferent. Too many thoughts able to spin through his head, not enough distraction. But that pain doesn’t prepare him for the pain of landing. 

It shatters his bones on impact, though it doesn’t feel like such a loss. Why should he care about his body when his mind has been long shattered before? If the fall was cold, then this is fire. 

He knows he should be able to feel something, and he does; physically. Shards of pain lance through him every time he inhales. 

That is not what frightens him. It is the total numbness of the situation that scares him. He is scared because he cannot even bring himself to want to care. 

He has been abandoned. They let him fall. 

The phrase ‘dead inside’ comes to mind. He laughs, a broken, bitter sound that leaves no room for amusement. The movement causes crippling pain to take over. He enjoys the feeling even as he grits his teeth. 

He revels in the pain. The pain that they caused him. He feels his anger and remorse grow, and latches onto the feeling greedily. 

The emotion that he so desperately craves. Finally, he’s able to feel something. 

He lets the pain crystalize and ferment inside him as he makes a silent promise as he stares into the void. The void stares back, even as his vision blacks and his consciousness is ripped away rudely.

When they find him, he is horribly wounded. Little to no chance of recovery. Flirting with death. He always does love to tease. 

They mend his body. There is no cure for his mind.

Not that he ever wants one.

No, that is not what he wants at all.

Before he is even in full health, he leaves. They want favors. He wants revenge. They make a deal.

Before the fall, his body was fresh and new, plump and well-taken care of. 

Now, when he looks at himself, he can barely see the old him. Where had the young, round face gone? The trusting eyes, the full lips?

All that is left is cold, hard eyes; steeled in determination. A sharp chin; thin, cracked lips. 

His body is too thin, too wiry. Not enough fat, too much muscle. His hair has grown longer than he usually kept it, poofy and wavy. He doesn’t care enough to keep it styled as he used to. 

He has learned many things since the fall. Always sleep with a weapon, even if the cold metal slits open his flesh while unconscious. Which never happens, because he never sleeps.

When he first confronts them, the men that let him fall, he feels like a King out to dole justice to the pathetic squabbling towns people. 

His smile is razor-sharp as he steps out of his glamour, his eyes flashing dangerous and cold as metal. “Father,” he murmurs, though it bites like the lash of a whip, “how wonderful to see you again.” His voice is almost sickly sweet, thick and choking like cough syrup, yet runny and acidic as bleach. 

The man looks shocked before it dissolves into rage. “Where have you been. I have had the gatekeeper looking for you. Do you understand how much grief I - we’ve gone through?” 

“Oh, really?” He keeps his voice light, conversational. “And here I thought that you let me just drop off the face of the planet . . . hmm, I guess I was wrong.”

The man’s face turns red in anger as his son speaks. 

“I obviously felt no pain at all when I fell.” Softly. “No pain at all when I landed.” Softer. “No pain at all when my bones shattered and no one but them helped me.” Softly, tinged with desperation. 

He takes a steadying breath, smiling as wide as he can. The most inappropriate expression for the moment. He is good at that. 

The man stares at him, hardly recognizing the person that used to be his son. He doesn’t know where he went wrong. 

He studies his cuticles, and as if he was speaking about the weather, announces, “and you let me fall.”

It was the single most agonizing thing that the man has ever heard, even in his long years of life. “My son,” he says without remorse, “you let go.”

He bites into his lip, tears welling in his eyes at the three words he does not want or need to hear at the moment. His fingernails press sharply into his palms, breaking through skin as he sweeps his arm in a grandiose motion. 

“AND WHAT ARE FATHERS SUPPOSED TO DO WHEN THEIR CHILD IS FALLING? CERTAINLY NOT LET THEM LAND.” He yells, eyes defiant even as they are filled with tears.

He looks down. Softly, softly, he mutters, “Certainly not what you did. Certainly not look at them with disappointment as they fall. Maybe. Maybe if you had caught me.”

He stands in silence for a moment, unbearably vulnerable. He hadn’t meant to speak this much. Hadn’t meant to feel. But he is and it feels like falling all over again. 

“Where is he?” He asks the man, voice coming out more emotional than intended. 

“You do not need my directions to find your brother. Go to him.”

He turns to leave. “I had planned on it.” His voice is once again sturdy, defiant. 

He waits for his ‘brother’ in the changing rooms, knowing that practice ends soon. What is a handful of minutes once he has fallen through time?

He considers disguising himself first, but he discards the thought. His ‘brother’ would know the truth yet.

When his ‘brother’ does come, he stares long and hard at him, like he is a figment of his ‘brother’s’ imagination. 

He takes a step forward. “‘Brother’.” He still adds quotations to the word in his head. He wonders if their father has told him yet. He hopes not. 

If there was anything he would not be able to handle right now, it would be his ‘brother’s’ rejection. Even as he knows this, he can’t un-know what he does. 

His ‘brother’ breathes his name, unbelieving. 

He nods once, in confirmation. 

His ‘brother’ takes just that one step closer and sweeps him into a hug. It’s more physical contact than he’s had since they helped mend his broken body. The hug is solid and unyielding, as if his brother knows that he needs this.

Needs someone to hold him tight, to let him know that they won’t let him fall, not again. To hold his shattered pieces together so that he won’t be able to fall apart. Not again. 

He struggles briefly, but his brother’s hold stays steady, does not yield. He didn’t want to escape anyway, not really. He just wants to know that even should he let go, someone will be there to catch him. To hold him together. 

He says his brother’s name softly, letting him know that it’s safe to let go. That he is whole, for now. That he is on stable ground. At least for now.

Unknowingly, the quotes have disappeared

-END-


End file.
